Yesterday morning, while walking my dogs. we came across a chair that had been left out on the sidewalk for some industrious upholsterer to rescue. I tried upholstery once: I’m no good at it. We left the chair there.
This morning, very near the spot where the chair was left yesterday, we found a ring of tomato seedlings that someone had put out with a sign saying they were free to anyone who wanted them. I have never been any good at growing plants indoors or out, but this seemed like an opportunity not to be missed. I took two seedlings.
After consulting the internet about growing tomatoes in containers, I went out to get some supplies. This afternoon I planted the tomato plants on the patio. I’ll spare you the potting soil, fertilizer, and mulch details. I have no idea what variety of tomatoes they may be.
I love tomatoes, and I am among those who can rhapsodize about the joys of a tomato sandwich in the latter days of summer (I like mine on English muffins, for some reason). Like all such people, I lament that a delicious tomato is getting harder and harder to find.
My record at growing plants of any kind is disappointing, let alone anything yielding fruit. Sharing this development with you is not so much about accountability as it is about narrative arc: these tomato plants have a narrative arc ahead of them, but what will it be? Will they prove to be hardy plants that will thrive even if they receive lackluster care? Will they end up being a scrumptious heirloom variety? Will they shrivel and die in the sun? Stay tuned… and find out! After all, I love a metaphor, and I sense these tomato plants will provide a first rate metaphor. You can thank me later for letting you in on it at the early stages.
It’s summer, after all, and it seems like planting tomatoes is the right thing to do. Plus, I feel as though it will be good for me to help something grow. It would probably be good for you too!
The "Kitchen Sink Tomato Sandwich" published years ago in "The White Trash Cookbook" is still my absolute favorite despite what that says about me! Thick slice of vine-ripened Jersey Beefsteak tomato on storebought white bread slathered with Mayonnaise and generously seasoned with salt and pepper, eaten standing over the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up and the juices running down the arms .... perfection!
Thurl has introduced me to tomatoe sandwiches on slices of his homemade sourdough bread. It is truly a slice of heaven. We are also attempting to grow tomatoes this summer. Great minds…. There is a time and a season and I hope it’s tomato